King
by Corvus no Genmu
Summary: He was and still is an enigma, an puzzle whose pieces seemed far to intricate in design to risk moving to create the entire picture. And still He could bleed. And still He could not die. A god with mortality? Or a mortal with powers of a god?


**"King"**

By Corvus no Genmu the Prince of Slumberland

A city of gleaming towers of glass and steel, whose sharp points pierced the skies and heavens above while their makers went about their lives without giving any real thought to the short time they had in comparison to the monuments that would stand for far longer than any of them. To the minisculities of their average lifespans and outlooks, structures made from the hands of humans or the hands of the earth were as close to immortality for even if the structure in question were to fall be it from war or time, there would be remembrances, photos, written words, virtually anything could keep the structure alive for centuries. However, arrogance and pride would be the undoing of the immortality they created, their sloth and selfishness driving away the precious moments that existed throughout life's path, every pebble, every flower, they would be passed by without a second's glance.

They had to be punished.

No one, not even the greater powers that control the strings of fate and pathways of destiny, could lay claim to the creation of Him, save for the creatures who gave Him His power, fueling His rage to outmatch the great storms of old, strengthening His hatred with their attempts to destroy Him and those like Him.

What futilities these mortals try.

He was and still is an enigma, an puzzle whose pieces seemed far to intrecat in design to risk moving to create the entire picture. He breathed air but expelled a force of heat rivaling the primordial fires of the sun. He stood tall and strong, greater than most mountains and causing many to topple in His steps. His skin was an armor that was nigh impenetrable save for the most deadliest, or in some cases, the most primordial of weaponry.

And still He could bleed.

And still He could not die.

A god with mortality?

Or a mortal with powers of a god?

It did not matter to them, the humans. To them, he was neither god nor mortal. For years He has been a bane in their lifes, a slow poison causing endless amounts of pain, never allowing death to embrace without one final touch of agony. Every visitation left more death, more heartbreak, more destruction upon them and He, He would come and go as He pleased. He would come to feed upon that which they held in such high regards, the energies of the sun, of the sky, of the very earth they created them, and He would leave as simple as that.

At least in the eyes of an outsider.

Life, however, is not one-sided; there is badness within good just as there is goodness within bad. For Him, His good was in the battles he fought not against them, the humans so deserving of His wrath, but his own kind, monsters made from either man or nature, created to spread across the world like a gigantic plague upon it. Many of the humans thought that He would join the others in their battles against man, aiding His power to their own, but He didn't. Like any tyrannical king, He was not used to nor welcomed the thought of sharing that which He considered His own. So He fought against them, most for invading the territories that He controlled, others for daring to rile His anger, and a few… for His own life.

A god's enemy is that which gods always fear.

An equal.

No such thing existed for Him, true there were close moments but those that rivaled Him were created from Him, sharing His blood, His flesh, even His Power in their attempts to usurp Him from the throne He had unwittingly gained. There was even one whose name was actually His own but even he could not live up to the true Him.

The King.

He had been given many names over the years. Freak of nature, abomination, monster, King, Defender, Destroyer… None stayed for long and passed with every renewal of power, of the reminder of where man stood in the grand scheme of things. He was both a undying creature and a living force of nature, a conundrum where the puzzles of life and death met with equal pieces of convoluted design, a being with the ability to wipe out the entire planet if He so wished.

But He didn't.

He hasn't.

Why?

Is there perhaps something there, deep within the primal recesses of His mind that tells Him the truth of what the miniscule lifeforms below really are? Perhaps, perhaps not. Either way, He shall continue in his own pathway to destiny, his strings of fate already being manipulated into another epic encounter with another great beast so like Him and so unlike Him all at once. He would fight against man and He would fight against this new enemy and prevail once more if only to fight the next battle. He would attain many titles, many alternatives in power, and many perceptions of His form of neutrality. As man would evolve further into its state of decay, He too would evolve into something greater, to match the decay with a furious storm. Man would name Him their bane of existence but even as He now tears asunder their glorious spires of steel and glass, their towers of immortality, they remain alive long enough to call Him by His name.

Godzilla


End file.
